Many Tales: HP
by Smozzick
Summary: A collection of short Harry Potter stories. Some are challenge fics and some aren't. My motto for this collection is quantity over quality.
1. Hagrid's Greatest Lie

**Challenge:** Delusional Musing's "Advanced Potion-Making Challenge"

 **Prompt:** What happened to one-year-old Harry on that 'missing day', the day the wizarding world celebrated the defeat of Voldemort? (He didn't arrive at Privet Drive until nightfall.)

 **Prompt Words (to include):** radar, woebegone, ugly

 **Prompt Thing (to include):** Wizengamot

 **Minimum Word Count:** 500 Words

 **Timeline:** The missing day is where Hagrid picked up Harry and arrived at privet drive the next day. Have about 10-18 hours

* * *

 **Harry's First Adventure or Hagrid's Greatest Lie**

* * *

Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore stood waiting on a dark street outside of a house.

"Professor, are you sure it's wise to trust Hagrid with something of such importance?"

Albus Dumbledore peered over his glasses at her, "My dear Professor McGonagall, I would trust Hagrid with my life."

* * *

Hagrid was beginning to regret helping Albus Dumbledore. To those who knew Hagrid, this was a BAD SIGN.

It should be noted, hastily, that this was not because of anything that Dumbledore himself had done – Dumbledore was, after all, a great man.

That having been said, the baby in his sidecar screaming at the top of its lungs was not appreciated. Hagrid was, in fact, getting rather annoyed.

As they were flying over Bristol the screaming and crying came to a halt. Hagrid, who was very focused on trying to fly a bike for the first time in his life, risked a glance over at baby Harry. He had fallen asleep. Putting his attention back on flying, Hagrid breathed a huge sigh of relief.

And, unbeknownst to Hagrid, something rather unfortunate happened.

As Hagrid sighed the bike shook. Violently. And Harry woke up.

Luckily for Hagrid, this didn't result in more screaming from his sidecar. Unluckily for Hagrid, this was because Harry had fallen from the sidecar.

Stunned from the change in surroundings the Boy-Who-Lived remained silent as he fell to his death, relaxing into the wind.

It is fortunate that for all the trust Albus Dumbledore puts in Hagrid he is experienced enough to always have a plan B. And so it was that moments before Harry became the Boy-Who-Died he disappeared with a pop of displaced air.

* * *

In courtroom five on level ten of the Ministry of Magic a meeting of the Wizengamot had finished just half an hour ago. The members of the Wizengamot had hurried out of the room to officially spread the joyous news that You-Know-Who, the Dark Lord, was dead. Only three people remained in the room.

The three people who remained were rather different but currently they had a lot in common. First, they were all old – ancient in fact, with the youngest of them being an incredible one hundred and twenty. Secondly, they all wore the official robes of the Wizengamot: plum-coloured robes embroidered on the chest with an elegant silver 'W'. And thirdly, they were all staring at the baby that had appeared in their midst.

Their staring was interrupted as, again faced with unfamiliar faces, the baby screamed it's displeasure.

The members of the Wizengamot, intelligent and wise as they were, acted quickly. They panicked.

"What do we do?!" cried the sole male, oldest of the bunch.

The youngest old lady poked the baby speculatively on its cheek. The screaming got louder and she hastily stepped back and shuffled behind the man with an ugly look of surprise on her face.

* * *

Meanwhile, Hagrid was flying the bike cheerfully just past Bristol when something at the front of the bike beeped. Looking down he saw a circular green device was flashing alarmingly, squinting past the light he read the words "Harry Radar" at the bottom of the device.

Hagrid paused, then turned very nervously towards the sidecar.

"Oh dear."

* * *

Back in the Wizengamot courtroom the oldest lady, though flustered, had an idea. She rushed over to where her bag sat on a seat and, after rifling through it for a moment, pulled something out.

"Aha!" She exclaimed triumphantly, holding out a small bottle.

The man, spoke warily, "What's that, Griselda?"

Even young Harry stopped crying for a moment. Ominous, the man thought.

"The solution to all of our problems! Well, his problems actually." She explained, "It's a bottle of Woe-be-gone."

The younger old lady looked worried now too, "Wasn't that banned for influencing others to remove the woe? Generally in spectacularly dangerous ways?"

"Psshaw!" Griselda psshawed, "It'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen?" She asked even as she raised the bottle to Harry's lips.

BOOM!

The room shook as an enormous man on an equally large bike burst through the ceiling, raining chunks of rock as he landed it with a jerky bounce.

Hagrid lifted his goggles and looked through the dust towards the renewed screaming.

"Don't worry Harry, Hagrid's here now." He boomed loudly.

Hagrid strode forward and yanked Harry from his place in Griselda's arms.

"I'll be taking that thank y- you look awful like the Wizengamot yer know." Hagrid said slowly.

The old man spoke up, "That's because we are members of the Wizengamot, you buffoon!"

"Righ'…" Hagrid said, "Not to worry, this shouldn' hurt."

"Wha-"

"Obliviate!" Hagrid shouted, having pulled a pink umbrella from nowhere and waving it towards the three.

Nothing happened.

"Er."

Hagrid backed away to his bike, moving his eyes shiftily, "Um…Good thing I took that Polyjuice Potion to disguise myself as Rubeus Hagrid, no-one will ever suspect me now! Ha…ha…"

Mounting the bike quickly and throwing Harry into the sidecar, the bike quickly launched into the sky through the hole in the ceiling (And the holes in the three ceilings above that).

* * *

Some hours later Hagrid landed the bike.

"Perfessor Dumbledore, sir. Perfessor McGonagall."

"No problems I trust Hagrid?" Asked Dumbledore, taking Harry from Hagrid's arms.

Sweat ran down Hagrid's face, "No sir," He cleared his throat nervously, "Little tyke fell righ' to sleep as were flyin' over Bristol."

* * *

 **A/N:** The idea of this collection of stories is quantity over quality. Great writing would be nice but to be honest I'll settle for writing a bit everyday and getting some practice in.


	2. A Song of Life

**A Song of Life**

It happened every year at the same time. At eight o'clock the mantelpiece clock downstairs would chime and the world – their world – would change. Up old, polished oak stairs, down an old, creaky hallway, behind an unnoticeable, locked door.

First, the cracks around the locked door would overflow with light as though a sun had briefly appeared in the room. Then, a beautiful, chirping song would resound – unlike any sound any mere instrument could make. And for the hour that the singer sung, the house lived.

All around the house dusty portraits of famous personages would tut at the state of their frames; wearily rising from chairs and beds and floors and greeting their contemporaries in much the way of a school reunion – though with large smiles as they listened to the song.

In one room of the house a number of small, spindly instruments in a dazzling array of colours came to life all at once in a cacophony of sound and motion as devices began to spin and trundle, some flying all around the room and others cheerfully puffing spouts of smoke. Once they had gotten going, though, the devices stuttered several times as the timing of spins and puffs changed until they were, to a distant listener, somewhat harmonious with the song.

In the dining room, tableware spun around the table with dancing candlesticks and singing teapots and duelling cutlery creating a joyous uproar.

In the kitchen pots and pans clattered and clanged as they shook on their hooks and yearned to create.

In the hallways candles lining the walls lit in fierce bonfires, flickering and dancing to the song.

And finally, in the wardrobe of the late Albus Dumbledore, designs came to life and the sun rose over silver-lined clouds on robes of the brightest, most Dumbledorian blue.

 **A/N:** Just an exploratory idea of a magical house coming to life. In this case long after Dumbledore's death. Written quickly so I might come back to this at some point and give it another try.


	3. Memories of a Brighter Time

**Challenge:** OCDdegrassi Crack/Unusual Drabble Competition **(Not my Prompt and also not an entry)**

 **Prompt:** Percy/Fenrir, Indecisive, Amnesia!AU, "You don't even have to say Luminos Maxima to turn me on."

* * *

 **Memories of a Brighter Time**

* * *

It had been an accident. Well, sort of. Percy had been duelling Fenrir Greyback for just moments before a stray spell hit the ground below them and thrust them into a small, dingy, cavern. He had taken advantage of the distraction to cast his own spell. The result of his quick thinking – and casting of obliviate - was an amnesiac, flirty Fenrir Greyback.

Percy weakly waved his battered, possibly broken wand towards the ceiling, muttering as he tried to light the room.

Fenrir waggled his eyebrows, "You don't even have to say Luminos Maxima to turn me on."

Percy closed his eyes and pinched his forehead between his brows, "It's Lumos Maxima."

"Look, all I'm sayin' is, you, me, alone in a dark room…" He narrowed his eyes seductively, "let there be light!"

Percy sighed, eyes flashing open, "Oh, what the heck!"

Fenrir perked up, "Really?"

"No." Percy answered, braining him with a rock in time-honoured Weasley tradition.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I saw this prompt on the challenge forum and had to write this even though it was someone else's prompt. Sorry! Not really sure what I'm meant to do if this happens...


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